cause she's bluffin
by burnedinashes
Summary: Quinn and Rachel have been best friends since high school and roommates throughout college. Too bad Quinn hates Rachel's girlfriend.


**I am not ashamed to admit that I wrote this drunk. I am ashamed, however, that it only took one glass of wine to get me there. And maybe a shot of ****something I'm not aware of. **

**#lightweight**

* * *

Eight months. It's been over eight months since Rachel decided to carry through with the very questionable decision of dating Penny Weston. Penny, the girl whose hair matches the copper tone of the object her name mirrors. Whose pale freckles are absurdly speckled across her nose in a way that Rachel thinks is absolutely adorable.

Fortunately—and Quinn has sent thanks many times to the forces that be—the girl isn't as stupid as her name. Only, she's still an idiot.

At least, to Quinn she is.

Mostly because she's obviously trying to sneak into the apartment the blonde shares with Rachel, and she's even more obviously struggling with the key. Quinn can actually hear the light scraping of the metal and she rolls her eyes at the sound.

The door isn't even locked.

Penny has never been good at being spontaneous, though Quinn would argue that Penny isn't really good at anything involving Rachel.

Almost six months ago, during the spring, the redhead had tried to pop an unexpected picnic on Rachel, only to forget the food. And blankets. And she hadn't even considered getting a bottle of wine, which, in Quinn's opinion, should have been her first thought. Or maybe second, only to planning something Rachel would enjoy, of course.

Which, okay, an improvised picnic was completely up the brunette's alley. Quinn could admit that, even if begrudgedly.

Naturally, Penny had called Quinn to save the day and, if it wasn't for the blonde's immense need to make sure Rachel got everything she deserved and more, Penny would have looked like a moron.

The stupid ginger should count her blessings, she thinks, and the nice part of Quinn considers just getting up and opening the door for her.

She doesn't move, however, and instead turns back to the book in her hands. It's just a conglomeration of poetry, but it's never really _just_ poetry to Quinn.

There are few things in the world she can say she loves, and this form of art is one of them. There's a flow to the words on the pages, a connection she forms with them before she even fully understands their meaning.

Mainly, it's something she ties in with Rachel, and that makes it all the more special to her.

* * *

_"I don't understand why you like old poetry so much," Rachel muses, pulling down the top of Quinn's book from where she sits across from the blonde. "It's confusing."_

_Quinn's eyebrow raises just the way it always does when her friend amuses her and she can feel the smile creeping at the corners of her lips. They're sitting on her bed—in her dorm room, as per usual—and they're _supposed_ to be studying. Only, one of them is obviously struggling to concentrate and the other is Quinn._

_"Speak a song for me," she requests, and Rachel's finger falls from where it's tugging at the spine of the book._

_"What?" she asks, her forehead scrunching and eyebrows closing in on each other. Quinn watches the reaction, laughing lightly as Rachel draws back in utter perplexion._

_"Speak a song for me," Quinn repeats, closing the page on her thumb and resting her chin on her palm. Her legs are crossed, elbow on knee, and she's more than ready to listen._

_"I don't understand. You want me to-to _say_ a song?" All guises of studying are dropped as Rachel's hands fly through the air, flapping with her words._

_The smile on Quinn's face turns softer; there's something about a flustered Rachel that just gets to her._

_"I want you to pick a song. Then, I want you to take the lyrics and _speak_ them, no singing allowed."_

_"Well what's the point in that?" Rachel fumes, quickly becoming frustrated over her lack of understanding of the point Quinn is trying to get across. Normally, she'd simply tell Rachel the point just to avoid upsetting the brunette. Her lesson this time is necessary, however, so she carries on._

_"You like singing, don't you?"_

_"Of course I do, Quinn. You _know_ it's my past, present, and future." There's a roll of those brown eyes Quinn is staring into, but she ignores the sass._

_"Then you should like speaking the words too, no?" she ventures, ready to get back to studying._

_"It's not the same, Quinn! There's no magic if I don't sing," she whines, and it's like music to the blonde's ears._

_"And there you have it," Quinn confirms, flipping the book open to return to the page she was on._

_"What do you mean, '_There you have it_?'" Rachel shrieks. "You haven't explained anything!"_

_Quinn takes her own turn at rolling her eyes, although playfully. Keeping her book open, she lowers it to her lap._

_"You're pretty. Like the sky."_

_Rachel deadpans for a second, clearly unsure how to react._

_"Um, I-thank you? I think." She shifts uncomfortably on the bed and Quinn almost laughs at the look on her face. Almost._

_"No?" she asks. "How about this?" Looking back down at the page, Quinn reads the poem she was referencing._

_"__She walks in Beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that's best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes:"*_

_It takes a few seconds before it happens but, sure enough, the blank stare Rachel is giving her morphs into dawning realization. Her brown eyes widen, lips part, and Quinn has the unexpected urge to finish the poem for her._

_Clearing her throat, Quinn adjusts the glasses over her nose and flips the page._

_"It's not _what_ anyone says that makes something magical, Rachel. It's about how they say it." Finally finished with her explanation, Quinn allows herself one last look at the girl across from her._

_Rachel's biting her lower lip, staring despondently at her hands in her lap, but then she's looking up and smirking at Quinn._

_"So you think I'm pretty?"_

_Quinn throws a pillow at her._

* * *

Admittedly, the poem she's reading right now is quite the opposite of what she normally indulges in. Anonymous love and unreciprocated feelings are her typical go tos, so it's almost strange for her to be reading about annihilation and carnage.

When Penny finally manages to open the door, it isn't hard for Quinn to figure out her subconscious reasoning behind picking this particular collection.

The first thing she sees is a baby pink box with vertical, darker pink lines designed to make it look like a present. Immediately, she recognizes it as the design from the bakery just down the street.

"What do you have there?" she asks, not waiting for Penny to fully enter the apartment.

The redhead jumps, nearly dropping the box, and an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak escapes her. It's kind of cute when Rachel does that, but Quinn finds it's just annoying on anyone not her roommate.

"Holy shit, Q," Penny whispers as she steps into the apartment. "You a guard dog now?"

The nickname has Quinn's hackles rising and she burns the words of the hateful poems into her mind. For some reason or another, at one point late in their spring semester, Penny decided that Quinn was a really great friend to her.

The blonde wanted to slam her face against a table when Penny first told her because, as it turned out, Rachel's girlfriend lacked any ability to detect sarcasm. And Quinn had capitalized on that fact more often than not.

"This is my couch," Quinn says in a volume only mildly lower than normal, making sure to keep the irritation off her face. "In my apartment."

Penny chuckles. Quinn clenches her jaw.

"Is Rachel in her room?"

The blonde nods slowly, her eyes following every movement the other woman makes. She watches as Penny sets the box down to remove the book bag from her back, and as she lifts the box in her direction with an open expression.

"Want a muffin?" she offers. "I got an extra one for you."

Quinn pauses for a moment before dropping her book in her lap and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Please tell me you didn't come all the way over here to surprise Rachel with a muffin."

She speaks in a way that makes it incredibly obvious that there is a wrong answer to her non-question.

"I didn't come all the way over here to surprise Rachel with a muffin?" Penny chances, her blue eyes hopeful. Quinn groans at the prominent lie in her voice.

"Penny," she sighs. "Rachel doesn't eat muffins."

"What? Since when?" the redhead asks, as if she didn't know any better when she was standing in the store. Sadly, Quinn figures she probably _doesn't_ know Rachel any better.

"Since high school when Shelby sang that Lady GaGa song with her and the word itself became banished from her vocabulary." Quinn waves the memory off, her hand flicking through the air.

"Are you serious right now? Because of a song?" There's this pull at the edge of Penny's upper lip that's surprisingly grating to her nerves.

Quinn _really_ tries not to punch Penny in her pretty little mouth.

"Do you not know who you're dating? Your girlfriend is _the_ poster child for all things melodramatic and expressive," she scoffs. "It's all part of the Rachel Berry charm."

And maybe Rachel is a little more successful in her charm than she's aware of.

Sighing, Penny walks over to the couch and sits back as she tosses the box onto the table.

"Well, now what?" she asks, looking at Quinn as if she holds all the answers.

It only takes Quinn two seconds to cave to the niggling request in the back of her mind.

"Now, you astound her with the autographed copy of a Funny Girl poster I managed to obtain," she exhales, barely moving to reach under herself and grab the rolled up poster she'd taped to the bottom of the couch. "Don't ask how I got it."

Penny's eyes widen but, thankfully, she doesn't question anything. She just takes it and tells Quinn she's the best before skipping off to Rachel's bedroom.

Quinn thinks a part of herself dies watching it all play out and, even though she's only wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, an overwhelming urge to leave the apartment floods through her when she hears Rachel's squeal from down the hall.

Standing up, Quinn feels nauseous as she slips into a pair of shoes and heads to the door. She shoots a quick text to Rachel telling her roommate that she's heading out for the night and won't be back until late.

For the briefest of instances, Quinn is still at the door. There's a denial within her telling her that she's not waiting for anything, even though she knows she just wants that return text telling her to stay.

When nothing comes, she leaves.

* * *

*** "She Walks in Beauty," Lord Byron.**


End file.
